44. Cassidy
FORTY-FOUR
CASSIDY
Morning comes sooner than it should.
The sun punches through the windshield and I crack the window and light a cigarette, letting the smoke and dust swirl around the cab. It’s not a great combination with the stale sweat and blood smell, but I need nicotine.
Bindi’s hunched in the passenger seat, her stomach growling, but we can’t stop now. I flick ash out the window and smirk. “We’re almost there, Firefly. Promise.”
She leans her head back against the seat and groans, real dramatic. “You said ‘almost’ an hour ago.”
I flick my cigarette out the window. “Almost is an estimate, not a definite amount.”
Her eyes flick to the empty highway rolling out in front of us. “You sure about this place?”
I drum my fingers against the wheel. “Yeah. A guy I used to know from Deadman’s had a few places tucked out in the sticks, just in case he needed to disappear.
Told me once, ‘If you ever need to drop off the map, Cass, check the old forestry trail past mile marker twenty-seven. Can’t miss it.
Looks like a piece of shit, but it’ll save your ass. ’”
“This guy trustworthy?”
I bark out a laugh. “Hell no. He’s dead now, anyway. OD’d a year back.”
She stares at me. “And you think no one else is using it?”
“Dunno,” I admit, shoulders shrugging. “If it ain’t, we’ll figure something else out. Sleep in the trees. Eat squirrels. Get real primal.”
“Yeah, that sounds awesome. Can’t wait to roast a possum over an open flame.”
“You love nature and shit.”
She rolls her eyes so hard I’m afraid she might sprain something. “You truly do not know me if you think that is on my list of wishes and dreams.”
I allow myself a crooked grin at how beautiful she looks, fierce and free in this light. I adjust my grip on the wheel, driving one-handed now, checking the rearview mirror out of habit. Behind us, there’s nothing but an endless empty highway.
And it feels like a dream.
I try to pick what comes next. I’m not actually certain what we will do long term, but for now, we can ride out the rest of summer here until I can figure out our next moves.
My mind wanders to mornings spent sipping coffee on the porch. In the afternoon, she can lounge in a hammock (because in my mind I would probably make her one) and she would read books. Maybe I’ll finally learn how to relax. We could be together, without anyone around us trying to end it.
And it would just be us playing house.
At a bend in the road, I spot a familiar road name. Ashen Dr. I have to make a sharp turn before I miss it, dirty spraying behind us. Bindi’s breath hitches, but we’re here. We roll through the soft gravel until the trees clear exposing a modest cabin .
It’s older, but sturdy. Wildflowers and tall grass brush against the walls and windows. It definitely needs to work, but there are no other houses in sight, no lights. I park the car and step out while Bindi slides out on the other side. I lean against the hood and stretch my back out.
“We made it.”
“We did,” she breathes.
The two of us exchange a grin, part nervous, part exhilarated.
Bindi steps around the car and stands beside me. My hand finds hers instinctively, and I squeeze her hand. She gives me a small smile back. “It’s ours,” I mumble.
Her eyes water a little as she takes in the cabin.
We stand there for a long moment beneath those towering trees, and I’m still gripping her hand, trying to convey that it’s okay. Finally, she looks at me and relief floods her face, and together, we step toward the cabin door.
The door is locked.
I’m about to bust the door off its hinges when Bindi crouches by the porch, lifts a rock, and smirks. Then dangles the spare key in the air.
We step inside, and she doesn’t let go of my hand as I pull her with me.
I wave a hand through the dust, scattering the motes that dance in the thin beam of sunlight cutting through a cracked window pane.
There’s a worn wooden table shoved up against one wall, with two mismatched chairs tucked under it.
A battered couch slumps near the stone fireplace, cushions fraying at the seams. To the right, there’s a little kitchen with warped counters and empty cabinets.
A small fridge hums weakly in the corner next to a rusted propane tank.
Somebody left a cast iron pan on the stove, covered in dust thick enough to write our names in.
It’s bigger than a shack with two doors off the main room leading to what I figure are bedrooms. Cracked plates and chipped mugs sit on open shelves, and a pile of firewood leans against the hearth, long since dried out and covered with dust.
I kick the door shut with my boot and set our bags down on the couch. I stand there a minute, just soaking it in.
Behind me, Bindi stands, arms crossed. I can practically hear her brain ticking through a dozen escape routes, half a dozen worst-case scenarios.
I want to tell her to breathe—tell her this is ours now. That we’re safe. Instead, I just watch her, chest burning. She steps forward cautiously, boots scuffing the dusty floor. I follow a few feet behind, not crowding her, but not letting her out of arm’s reach either.
She pokes her head through one of the bedroom doors. I catch a glimpse over her shoulder—a narrow bed pushed up against the wall, a tiny dresser with one drawer hanging off its tracks, a spiderweb glittering in the corner.
Bindi snorts under her breath. “Cozy.”
I grin. “You haven’t even seen the master suite yet.”
She gives me a look but doesn’t argue, just moves on, checking the bathroom—a small, grimy space with a cracked mirror and a toilet that’ll probably need a few good prayers before it works right.
But none of that matters
She’s here.
She’s alive.
She’s still mine.
“We’ll make it ours.”
“This place?” she asks, arching a brow.
I shrug, giving her my best shit-eating grin. “Nobody else gets this. Just us,” I say. “No landlords. No neighbors. No cops. No noise.”
“No plumbing,” she mutters, but she’s fighting a smile.
I step closer, brushing my fingers against hers like it’s an accident .
“We’re free, Binx,” I say. “No one’s gonna find us here. We can start over.”
For a second, I swear I see it in her eyes.
The walls she always holds up crack just enough.
A flicker of belief.
A spark.
I lean in, lowering my voice. “Trust me, baby. This is it; this is ours.”
She doesn’t answer right away, just tips her chin up and stares at me, like she’s measuring how much of herself she’s willing to give to this dream. Eventually, she nods once.
But it’s enough. I grab our bags and start hauling them toward the bigger bedroom.
When I come back into the kitchen she’s running her finger across the cracked countertop.
I step up, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind.
She leans back into me. It’s real . . . she’s here with me.
She’s safe. I kiss the top of her head. “We did it.”
I swallow hard and turn her around to face me. “We’re free, Binx. We’re together. No one’s going to find us here. We can be together.” Her eyes scan the cabin and I gently grab her hand, forcing her to meet my gaze again, grinning tiredly. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Cass.”